


Over Spilled Milk

by Glossolalia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breastfeeding, Crying, Divorce, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fix-It of Sorts, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Original Character Death(s), Parenthood, Slow Build, Species Dysphoria, Time Skips, Warnings May Change, Widowed, Xenophilia, afab language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17099939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glossolalia/pseuds/Glossolalia
Summary: Saving the universe and all its alternate realities should warrant a karmic vacation, but if your name is Keith, catching a break has the same statistical odds as winning the lottery.Now thirty-years-old and the father of an infant son, Keith is newly widowed and holding it together by a thin thread. In an attempt to prevent Keith from losing his everloving mind, Krolia and the retired Voltron Paladins stage an intervention on Altea. As it turns out, Keith isn't the only one in need of a helping hand.





	1. 2,920 Days Before

**Author's Note:**

> I keep writing stories about these characters having kids and getting divorced, but I'm gonna ollie out on unpacking that childhood trauma and just continue writing things for y'all to enjoy. 
> 
> Also, the title wasn't supposed to be a breastmilk pun, but if the shoe fits.

In an ivory tower on a planet birthed from the heart of a princess, Keith stood with his arms folded over his chest, gazing out a floor-to-ceiling window and frowning. Like a fairytale, the window framed a field blanketed in newly bloomed wildflowers. They swayed beneath the moonglow, petals shifting in the breeze and mocking the current conversation. The flowers were achingly blithe, and Keith gnashed his pointed teeth, raring to rip them out by their thin roots.

He could imagine them snapping in the soil like fingers yanking through tangled hair, which was exactly what he wanted to do to the man behind him. Shiro had gone mute. He was less than an arm's length away, but emotionally, Shiro was in another galactic quadrant. Keith had inspired better responses from Shiro when he technically wasn't the Shiro he knew and loved. The situation irritated him like a provocation. Surely, a love confession hadn't come as a surprise.

"I wish I was good at talking," Keith admitted, each syllable a broken stitch. "I wish I knew how to tell you everything I felt that kept me running after you. Maybe you'd get it."

As he had since the conversation took its current path, Shiro judiciously chose his words. Keith could feel the heat of his stare along the back of his neck, his innocent surprise a crafted charade.

"Keith, you know how grateful I am for everything you've done. Like you once said, my life would be very different without you, but what you're asking of me right now... I can't..."

"Is it because I remind you of when you were lost? Marrying him won't erase that, Shiro. It won't make you  _normal_. We're always going to be world-weary."

"It's not like that. There's more to life than us, and I need you to have more than  _us_. When was the last time you lived for yourself?"

Keith's shoulders lifted with an inhale. His next words cracked like a whip. "You were Captain of the Atlas, an admiral, and I was the Black Paladin. We make our own decisions now. You don't get to sleep with me twice and then play the big brother part because it's convenient."

"That's a part you assigned," Shiro said, tone intentionally cool.

"Don't turn this on me." Keith impatiently pushed off the window and strode, smacking their biceps as he passed Shiro. "If it was never going to happen, then you should have said something. I would have left with the Blades when I had the chance. I would have  _moved on_."

Shiro turned, eyes fixated on Keith. "No one wants you to leave. The Garrison still needs you. Earth needs you. Your  _best friend_  needs you."

Keith stopped and swung back around, eyes wide and flickering yellow. "Your best friend's heart is breaking!"

It took a muscle Keith didn't even know he had not to add 'again.'

Pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, Keith's breathing became shallow. He didn't weep, but his jaw tightened. As much as he wished it was plain sadness, Keith couldn't simplify his feelings anymore. This went beyond grief of unrequited romance. It dove deeper, precariously swam between long forgotten mines like abandonment, helplessness, and waning self-esteem.

He knew he would always love Shiro in a needling way. Diligently, but distantly, and with the breath of the universe hot against the back of his neck, urging him onward no matter the cost.

It wasn't a safe love.

Foolishly, he had thought they might find peace once the conflict ended, once Honerva had been routed. There was nothing left for them to do but puzzle the universe back together and make something of themselves that didn't include staring death in the eye and shredding fleets of sentry-piloted battlecruisers. Keith hadn't expected a marriage proposal from Shiro. All he'd wanted was a chance to make an attempt at a secure life with the person he loved the most.

Simple, safe, and oh-so-very not for them.

Keith dropped his hands, unaware of his newly slit pupils. "I've let you need me for my entire adult life. I'm going to contact Kolivan in the morning, and I'm going to finish what I started with the Blades' humanitarian efforts."

Shiro rushed his flesh hand through his hair, panicking. "Keith, please. I'm not doing this to punish you, so don't punish me."

"I'll come back for the wedding," he promised, stabbing his own back. Keith finished his walk to the door and slammed his palm against the reader. It whirred open. "I want you to be happy, Shiro, and after everything, I need to see you happy, but don't contact me unless it's an official invitation. Consider it a favor to you and Curtis. I know exactly how I'd make you think twice."

The darkness beyond the threshold stared back, terrifyingly infinite. After holding a torch for Shiro for so long, it was only fitting the end would have to be a light he doused.


	2. 2,920 Days Later

Keith lay on his back in his unlit cabin, eyes unfeeling and out of focus as he stared through a window and beyond the bister meteor field. He hadn't bothered turning on the light when he strode in from the nursery, a fragile infant slung across his chest and already asleep. Rather, Keith lowered himself onto the tidy berth, cradling the back of his son's tender head the whole way.

He didn't toe off his Blade-issued boots, nor did he think to unravel the long braid dangling over his shoulder. Keith simply settled in for the evening, and with static thoughts, took to absorbing the expansive dark the Marmora vessel was coasting through.

Barely two months before, Keith's thoughts had been acute, vivid colors that spiraled into dizzying aspirations meant to heal the universe.

He did his best to remind himself his husband had been dead for less than six Earth weeks, but in his war-ravaged mind, Keith expected to have the same emotional elasticity as his teenage self. It hadn't occurred to him that there might not be as much give left, especially when saying goodbye to the person who had not only swept up his shattered heart but pieced it back together.

'Pieced it back together' was an oversimplification. Kax had done more than glue a fistful of shards into a familiar shape. He had reconfigured Keith with gentle hands, aligned his fragmentary outlook like an artist lovingly preoccupied with a mosaic mural. He saw the wonder in each tile Keith presented him, never rejecting even the cruelest shards. There was always a place for what Keith had to offer him, and it had been a mutual sentiment. Enthusiastically so.

Keith's chest shuddered. His heart thudded with enough force to close his throat, forcing him to meditate on his child's whispery breathing. The infant's name was Mox, and unlike Keith, had inherited the purple Galra skin tone and dagger ears. Much like Keith, he was slight for a Galra.

He breathed back the residual scent of womb and milk and dragged his fingers along the small head of dark hair. Though he tried not to, Keith often dwelled on the night Mox was conceived.

Urgently, and with woozy coordination due to smuggled Earth whiskey, Keith had boldly stripped down to nothing in a fighter ship's cockpit. It was after their first conflict since Allura's sacrifice, and reeling through fleets left Keith humming for safe hands. Kax had playfully smacked his thigh, expectantly arching an eyebrow, and Keith found his rightful place on his lap. One hand seized the man's long mohawk that glowed like fiber optics and another took his shoulder. Keith rode hard, splitting himself over and over again with clenched teeth.

Almost a year later, Keith could still feel Kax's name in his throat, hear himself begging Kax to never leave him because his heart couldn't survive another eviscerating disappointment.

" _As if I can imagine a universe without you by my side. I'm not going anywhere, Keith. This reality or the hundredth one over, it ends with us."_

It was perfect in the crushing way, full of tenderness and reverent whispers. No one had loved Keith half as much, and 'I love you' sounded so beautiful when it didn't only come from him.

" _I'll always follow you. There's no corner of space too dark."_

Terribly enough, he had meant it.

Keith collected Kax's remains from the wreckage himself, jetpack steering him through the floating debris that appeared suspended in time due to the Brerth Y3's unstable atmosphere.

Kolivan insisted against it at first. After all, Keith still smelled like the slaughter of childbirth, but after a rage-fueled confrontation that ended with blades scratching each other's throats, Krolia demanded Kolivan let him find the remains. She would have wanted to do the same.

So he went, and only in hindsight, did Keith wonder if Kolivan might have been in the right.

He found Kax strapped in his pilot chair, eyes shut and mouth tilted in a smarmy half-smile as if invigorated by battle until the end. Kax appeared to be sleeping, but he was too still. Gone.

How unfair.

Years together, and then as soon as he brought their child into the universe, Kax was snuffed out in a freak battle the coalition would spend weeks baffled by. It was an unnecessary exchange. It was the universe reminding Keith he would never experience enduring contentment.

Closing his eyes, Keith cleared the mucus beginning to drip down his throat. Tears shot toward his hairline like racing stars, but he ignored them with tight teeth.

He supposed that if he thought the universe believed in equilibrium, then he would be angrier, rawer. Keith knew better, though. At thirty-years-old with a colossal war behind him and a new one unfurling in front of him, Keith understood checks and balances were solely a social order.

It didn't make him boil any less, though. Sometimes, when Mox was swaddled in his cradle, Keith would sit on his bed in the child's pose and scream into a pillow. Fists beating against the mattress, he wanted the universe to take everything back. He would pray to Allura, beg her to escort Kax through different realities and bring him back home. Keith now understood why Honerva wanted to shred existence into pieces in search of the man she loved, the life she knew she could've had.

Allura never answered, and he was thankful. Both knew better than to put themselves before the universe. Eventually, he started to ask for the hurt to go away, but it only became inflamed.

Keith wiped his nose. "Fuck."

Against the berth wall, a purple console glitched into existence, its screen informing Keith of an incoming call from the Castle of Lions. He contemplated ignoring it, but he hadn't heard from Altea in weeks. After attending the funeral, Lance and Hunk tried to call as often as possible, offering to join the Marmora as temps. For reasons unknown to even him, Keith told Krolia to reject the unofficial applications, asserting he needed time alone to return to his routine. He knew better, though. Mourning was never a clean cut. It left stab wounds akin to crimes of passion.

"Patch through," he said, his voice sounding foreign to himself.

The screen changed with a hushed  _blip_ , revealing Lance leaned back in a white chair and wearily smiling at the camera. Keith shifted his stare to the berth's ceiling and continued to pet his son.

Lance leaned forward, squinting. "Either the connection is that bad or you're sitting alone in the dark."

"Hey, Lance." Keith opened the console settings and scrolled for the bed lights. With an upward swipe, his surroundings illuminated, filling with cozy orange light. "Sorry. Mox is asleep."

Lance inspected the screen. His smile only grew. "He's cute, man. Can't wait for him to finally meet his Uncle Lance. I wonder if he'll recognize my voice outside the blimp."

Though Lance had been at the funeral, Mox had been safely tucked away in the nursery with a series of highly trained nannies and guards. Keith had been in no shape to parent him.

"You never know," Keith said and cleared his throat, slipping a finger into the baby's hand. Mox's fingers curled like a fern. "So – uh, what's up? Did something happen?"

"Can't a guy check in on his friend?" Lance asked, good-naturedly rolling his eyes. "You've been off the grid for a while. I know the Marmora is expanding its efforts, but we've been worried."

"We've," he knowingly echoed, raising his brow.

Lance chose to ignore that. "Worried and wondering if you'd like to take a break with us on Altea. Like an extended vacation on the beach or maybe a several-week-long spa day. Hunk even said something about a deprivation chamber or two."

"There's too much going on for me to take off just so I can sit around with cucumber slices on my eyes. You and everyone else saw what happened with Murn EQ9, Bavobos, and Pozade. The planets flipped inside out. Whatever caused that hasn't been seen in weeks."

"Then you can talk to Pidge while she's here. She's been trying to trace the energy since –"

Keith finished for him, inflicting violence on himself. "– since Kax died."

"That's another thing," Lance began, carefully picking his words. "Listen, man. If I hadn't had you guys and my family after Allura left, then I don't know how I would've turned out. You've been barreling through cold open space since Kax died. That can't be good for you."

"I know you mean well," Keith said before he impatiently exhaled. "But I'm fine, Lance. I have all the resources I need here. If I wasn't fine, then you'd know."

Lance also exhaled, matching Keith's impatience. "Krolia asked me to make this call."

Had Mox not been asleep on his chest, then he would have sat up like a springboard. Keith turned his head and glared at the screen. "What are you talking about?"

"You're her only kid, and she's concerned. That's all." Lance kept his stare downcast and brought a tumbler to his mouth. "Actually, she talked to Shiro first who then differed to me."

Keith blinked, disbelief toppling over the edge into a tight laugh. " _Shiro_?"

"He wasn't feeling it either," Lance reassured him. "That's why I'm making the call."

Keith attempted to snuff the betrayal. His mother had no business interfering with that part of his life, but then again, maybe she did and he wasn't accustomed to the idea of being parented. Over the years, they had grown closer, but Keith still called her Krolia more than he did Mom.

"So she tried pulling out the big guns," Keith joked, not bothering to hide his bitterness. "I'm a thirty-year-old man. She can talk to me herself if she has an issue with my work performance."

"It has nothing to do with your work, and that's the problem. You went back to work the day after the funeral. Keith, the coalition can keep an eye out for the unknown force while you –"

"While I  _what_ , Lance?" Keith's words gradually grew louder. "While I think about how once again I've lost the most important person in my life? While I think about the fact my son is going to grow up only knowing one of his parents just like me? While I regret even giving marriage and kids a fucking shot? Is that supposed to help me? Is that going to make me feel better?"

Lance set down his glass with a firm thud. "Healing is hard, Keith, and you know that better than anyone, but it's the responsible thing to do. We get it together for the universe."

"I have it together."

"You're going to combust. That's what you do. That's Keith. You hold it all in, and then when it matters the most, you throw yourself headlong into a suicide mission."

Mox shifted on his chest and whimpered, aggravated his sleep had been interrupted. Keith glanced down to the best of his ability while positioned on his back and then sat up, hand smoothing up and down the baby's spine. Mox continued to fuss, and Keith protectively pressed his cheek against his head, still scrutinizing Lance's remorseful expression. He cooed and rocked, chest aching. Keith waited until Mox's breathing evened out, those tiny butterfly lungs deflating and expanding in their familiar rhythm, to continue the strained conversation.

"I don't know what I'd do without my work," Keith admitted. "I can't think about him. It's like as soon as I do something starts splintering."

"You'd talk to us," Lance insisted. "You'd spend time with us. We're the only people who understand what you've gone through. Don't shut us out when you need us the most."

"Just –" Keith closed his eyes, refusing to submit after one conversation. "Let me sleep on it."

Keith deliberating was enough to bring a smile back to Lance's mouth. He gave Keith a traditional Galra salute, and at the same time, refilled his drained whiskey glass off-screen.

"Don't get your hopes up," Keith added, tugging the elastic tie off the end of his braid. "There's a lot going on here, and it's my ship. I'll decide whether or not they can do without me."

Keith heard his own insolence, but being told how to handle himself by those he loved had lost its luster years ago. He ended the call with a clipped goodbye, and sighing, carefully lowered Mox onto the mattress. Keith slipped free from the berth to shower and dress for a short sleep.

His mother had warned him against it, but Keith co-slept with Mox.

Given his regular exhaustion, it made more sense than a cradle he'd have to walk to. One cry and Keith could roll over on his side, feed Mox in his half-awake state, and call the job done.

Keith was standing beneath the burning spray for no more than five doboshes when Mox's familiar yowl sailed from the bedroom into the shower stall. He pressed his forehead against the tile, and rubbing his temples, wondered how his dad had managed alone. As if as spurned by the universe as Keith, Mox had taken to fighting sleep as soon as Keith was ready to shut his eyes.

"Hold on!" Keith yelled, rinsing his hair. "Hold on, Mox!"

They had a difficult night.

For reasons Mox probably didn't understand himself, he was absolutely inconsolable. Wailing clearly made more sense, and no burping, feeding, changing or rocking could unmake that decision. Keith checked for a fever. When he didn't feel warm, he laid Mox down in the first aid scanner only to find nothing. Desperate, Keith even tried singing, which made it worse. This led to begging, but Mox didn't care his father deserved sleep. He wanted to scream his lungs to ash.

"I get it!" Keith eventually groaned, trying not to rage cry at his infant son. "Trust me, Mox, I understand! This sucks! This really fucking sucks! I'm mad he left, too!"

At some point, they both raised their white flags and fell asleep. Keith woke up seated on the floor, bent over his crossed legs with Mox snoozing in his cradling thighs. His alarm beeped in the background, but all he could hear was the pulse playing like a snare inside his aching skull.

* * *

Keith was lifting his first bite of breakfast to his lips when Krolia appeared before him like an apparition. He pretended not to notice her and filled his mouth, carefully swishing the purple gruel from molar to molar to simulate chewing. The mess hall was humming with conversation, but Keith had been utterly silent since taking his seat, only occasionally assessing the infant strapped to his chest. He liked to follow Mox's line of sight to better understand his stimuli.

"Keith, we need to have a talk," she said, taking a seat across from him at the long communal table.

No one dared to sit beside Keith. His morning disposition had always been neutral if not good, but since Kax's death, he had become blunt. The Galra were pragmatic as if hardwired for concision, but Keith was now dismissive, too tired to care about another's emotional nuance.

"I'm listening," Keith said and sipped his sludgy caffeinated drink. It was black, but in a way that didn't seem to reflect light. A consumable black hole, even.

Krolia softened her gaze. "I know you spoke with Lance last night."

"Right," he said, defeatedly sighing. "The conspiring."

"There are schemes, and then there's an intervention for those you love. I want you to carefully consider the invitation. I understand what it's like to put the cause before needs and desires, but we've entered a new era. Duty isn't as pressing as it once was, and the people are empowered."

Keith snapped his gaze to her, cutting and as cold as a blade. "Duty is what keeps me sane. Completing Kax's projects and meeting his aspirations are what get me out of bed."

"That's self-immolating behavior." Krolia inspected his face, not bothering to withhold her pitying concern. "Your father did this after I told him I had to go."

"Don't bring Dad into it," Keith muttered, tiredly pushing back his bangs.

"You've been socialized as a human, so you're going to feel differently about loss than a lot of the Galra here. I've consulted with human psychiatrists to better understand how to professionally handle you and not overstep, but I'm still your mother. Both my maternal instinct and the psychologists recommend a leave of absence. You need your human friends. You need people who recognize the loss as you see it. You also need some peaceful hours with your son."

"What I  _need_  is for people to stop telling me what to do."

"Then allow me to rephrase," she said, hardening her voice. "You can either take my offer or be officially discharged from the Blades. Keeping an emotionally unstable officer on the bridge would be running a serious risk."

Taken aback, Keith righted his posture. He considered countering, pointing out how she was abusing her authority as a Galra representative, but Krolia had no senior officer to report to.

"Who would replace me?"

"No one would replace you," she assured. "I would temporarily fill the position. After a suitable amount of time passed, you'd be fully reinstated as this ship's captain."

Keith had forgotten about his meal. "And my men? What would I tell them?"

"Telling them you have important business on Altea should suffice. No one here is impudent enough to question something referred to as classified information."

"This isn't a choice," he reminded her. "You're forcing me."

"When those you care about can't help themselves, then it's your responsibility to help them to the best of your abilities." Krolia redirected her stare to Mox who had fallen asleep. She loosely smiled, lips shifting to the side. "How has he been? Is he still sleeping in the same intervals?"

"Three," Keith lied, acting as if his dark circles weren't glaring at her.

"And your milk supply? The medic bay said the latching difficulties had been resolved, but your uneven mammary glands posed a threat against mature milk. He's small for being two-thirds Galra."

Fighting the urge to asphyxiate himself, Keith's mouth plummeted. If only they'd been able to develop a formula that fit a Galra-human hybrid. Krolia blamed the absence of her milk for his small stature, and throughout the entire pregnancy, insisted he let his body lactate. 

"It's fine," Keith said.

"No unfamiliar discharge? The birthing canal is known to secrete a toxic purple mucus that burns through clothing without proper liners."

Keith slowly arched an eyebrow and waited for her to realize he wasn't willing to continue the invasive conversation. When she did, she rolled her eyes to the side, exasperated.

"This is reproductive health, not an assault against your privacy."

"I have a doctor."

This didn't appease her, but she concluded the topic. "I want you to have the time with Mox that I couldn't have with you. Once you realize how fast the deca-phoebs go by, you'll be thankful."

"How long do I have to turn in an official notice?"

"Twelve quintants," she said. Keith furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to retort, but she lifted a palm. "It's enough time, Keith. You're not in this alone."

* * *

Wearing civilian clothes made Keith feel vulnerable. Even in a dense leather jacket, hooded sweatshirt, and thick athletic leggings, he was too light for his own liking. This wasn't to say Marmora armor was heavy, but it melded to the skin and offered security. Keith had been forced to retire the uniform as soon as he signed his discharge papers, leaving him too aware of his own fleshy body. Somehow, it made the already stressful solo flight to Altea even worse.

"Almost there," Keith said, more to himself than the napping six-week-old beside him.

He was already late thanks to the lack of a baby seat, a perplexing concept to Krolia who didn't seem to understand it wasn't sane to toss a cradle onto a ship and call it a quintant. Usually a stickler for time, Keith hadn't minded the hiccup, hoping against hope Krolia would retract her decision and let him stay. She hadn't, though. Somehow, she rigged together a seat Keith knew wasn't up to code but had to use lest he wanted to be jettisoned into space. One comment about the belt, and Krolia had glared at him, daring him to breathe another word.

Altea first appeared as a blue pixel, a tiny speck of light in the distance. It rapidly grew into a planet as terrestrial as Earth. Before entering the atmosphere, Keith opened a hail to let the others know he'd arrived. His screen alerted him of a return transmission, and he answered, revealing a video feed of Lance and Pidge leaned over an Altean console and sharing a bag of chips.

"Took you long enough," Pidge said through a mouthful.

Keith glanced at the screen but only for a second. "Mox didn't have a baby seat."

She raised her glasses and craned her neck, squinting at the safety contraption. "There's no way that's safe. It looks like a torture device. Anyway, we're meeting you at Terminal C, Gate 3. Expect contact from ground control with the proper coordinates."

"Hurry up," Lance barked, already on his way to the door. "I need to see my nephew!"

Keith maintained his focus on Altea. "See you two there."

During her ascendance, Allura had terraformed the remains of Altea, seemingly straining them through time and quintessence until they were reborn. Based on what Coran said, the result was an exact replica from before Zarkon's possession, but the planet was no longer a kingdom. Like Daibazaal, Altea was now a republic. The Altean population prided itself on its reignited culture, education, and especially beautiful terrain that drew in both tourists and refugees. Keith and Kax had escorted displaced communities to Altea more than once, meaning all of his friends had met Kax a handful of times. That included Shiro, and weirdly enough, also Curtis.

Too old not to be amicable, Keith had pointedly avoided Shiro during the relocation missions. Professionally, Kax respected Shiro, but even before he was romantically entwined with Keith, he hadn't been a fan based on Keith's cool avoidance. The instinctual dislike was exasperated when Keith admitted to being scorned, and it became a personal wound when Shiro accidentally walked in on Kax fucking Keith from behind directly after their mutually wrought love confessions.

Rather than be polite and stop, Kax had struck Keith's cervix, knocking spit from Keith's gasping mouth and delivering a clear message to Shiro.

The following breakfast was one Keith often tried to will from his memory but never quite could. Ever a territorial Galra male, Kax suspiciously watched Shiro the entire time. Shiro, too lost in his thoughts to notice, didn't speak. He stared at the bread basket instead, and Keith pretended he needed to use Kax's knife so that Kax wouldn't use it on what he firmly believed was a jealous voyeur.

Being caught by Shiro solidified something Keith hadn't known was still viscous. Even after years apart, Keith wondered if they had subconsciously clung to the idea that they might try again. He couldn't be sure, but afterward, Keith didn't return to Altea more than once a deca-phoeb. During his and Kax's wedding, Shiro was nowhere to be found, and when Keith discovered he was carrying Mox, he couldn't understand why he felt obligated to tell Shiro. They had mutually agreed to cut contact.

Kax insisted Keith didn't owe him the information, so it was Lance who graciously broke the news. When Keith asked Lance what Shiro said, Lance promised him he didn't want to know.

" _You two are a sore spot for the group already, and I'm not gonna make it worse. Just expect a breast pump for Christmas this year. Look forward to it even."_

Shiro didn't attend Kax's funeral, and well, Keith wasn't surprised.

"Almost there," Keith said again.

He entered the atmosphere and continued to dwell on the past. So much time had passed since the Lions took flight to God only knows where. Allura being gone was a wound that would never close, but other than that, the terror of war and robotic death matches felt like a lifetime ago.

* * *

A diaper bag hanging off his shoulder, Keith freed Mox from his baby seat with the caution of a bomb squad. He carted the baby down the lowered ship ramp, eyes flitting across the bustling landing strip. The temperature was fair but the sky was overcast. As he strode, Keith was greeted by familiar faces that wanted to chat. Too tired for pleasantries, Keith politely waved back and then hurriedly made his way inside the terminal so the roar of space jets wouldn't wake Mox.

Altea imported Earth coffee, and Keith ached for it the way he once ached for Kax's hard fucks. Knowing he was setting himself up for disappointment, he hoped for a nearby coffee shop.

"There he is!" Hunk shouted, lifting his hands into the air. "Keith, buddy, we're over here! By the burrito den with the weird tentacle fry mascot!"

Keith expected Lance and Pidge, not Hunk and Coran, and most certainly not Shiro, but there they were. Keith scanned the group, surprised. It was the first time they'd been together as a unit in literally four years. Keith wasn't the nostalgic type, but he was willing to make an exception.

The last time Keith had seen Shiro he had settled into married life. Glasses, a closet full of turtlenecks, shortened hair, and a persistent five o'clock shadow Keith fantasized about plucking out as punishment for thinking it was a good idea. Whether or not he had gotten Lasik surgery, Keith didn't know, but the glasses were gone, the turtleneck replaced with a white fitted tee and black bomber jacket. His face was cleanly shaved, and he'd even grown out his trademark forelock.

Shiro had also gained weight, muscles faded but still distinctly solid beneath healthy fat. It didn't detract from his handsomeness, but it was still startling. Muscular strength and athletic fitness had been compulsive for Shiro since their years at the Garrison together. It didn't cure his disease, but it kept his muscle tissue from locking up. Keith supposed that was a non-issue now.

He, on the other hand, spent his years after the war training with Kolivan, improving his physique and reflexes in hopes of becoming a more powerful asset to the Galra Republic.

It made sense Shiro would let that go. Unlike Keith, he was weaponized against his will for years. The fact he'd requested the second slimmer version of his bionic arm to resemble the one conceived by Honerva startled everyone.

Still, though. Seeing Shiro's soft body and subtle gut made Keith smile. He cleared his throat to battle back a genial laugh and swept his gaze to the side. He pretended to be focused on Mox whose chubby cheek was squished against his shoulder. Keith hoped he wouldn't spit up.

"Let me see him!" Lance shouted, jogging to meet Keith halfway. "Let me see the baby!"

The others followed at a much more leisurely pace.

"It's still so surreal Keith was the first one to have a kid," Pidge muttered, dressed in a green cable knit sweater that hung to her knees. "I would've bet money on Hunk or Lance."

Lance skidded to a halt in front of Keith. He grinned as he peeked around to better see Mox. "Don't act like it wasn't because they forgot the condom."

"Could you at least say hi first?" Keith grumbled. He trained his eyes off Shiro who had wisely decided to stand at the rear. Keith stared past Lance and focused on Hunk instead. He sighed, realizing Hunk was smiling. Tearfully smiling. "Come on, big guy, you saw me a few weeks ago. Don't turn this into something it isn't."

"Fragile masculinity," Hunk said and nodded in agreement. He swiped up a tear. "Got it. No crying here. It's just that you're a dad now, and it's like, you know, the whole cycle of life thing. Us getting older when we sometimes thought we wouldn't get older or whatever. No big deal."

"He's you but if you were a grape," Lance whispered, taking Mox's hand and gently waving it up and down.

Keith closed his eyes. "Please don't wake him up. He hasn't been sleeping well, which means I haven't been sleeping well."

"Don't worry. You'll be getting plenty of sleep here," Lance reassured him. "Because on this planet he's got four uncles and aunts ready to take the wheel. This kid isn't gonna know what hit him he's gonna be loved so much. Just a full-on love suplex. Right in the solar plexus of family."

Coran reeled back, glancing between Keith and Lance. "Excuse me, but here on Altea, we do not wrestle our babies."

"That's not what he meant," Shiro said and grabbed Coran's shoulder. "He's using expressions. Strange ones even for Earth standards, but it's not what it sounds like."

Ignoring Shiro, Coran continued, raising an index finger. "On Altea, we wait until they're four-deca-phoebs old and then let them face the gladiators!"

"Right. Never mind," Shiro murmured, dropping his hand. He crossed his arms and offered Keith a polite smile. "How was the flight, Keith?"

Their friends attempted to act as if the interaction was casual, unweighted by ten years of baggage, but the way Lance and Hunk exchanged glances left Keith glowing in the spotlight.

Unwilling to give the audience an inch, Keith shrugged. "About as eventful as a flight through open space with zero air traffic can be."

"So boring then."

"Might've thought about pulling out a tooth for fun."

Shiro laughed and pushed his hands into his jacket pockets. "Always good to know some things never change."

"And I'm sure you're still not much better when you think no one's looking," Keith said, brushing his fingers along Mox's head to self-soothe. Shiro shrugged, not denying the accusation. Keith decided to address the whole group, heart hammering. "Can we get coffee around here? Or is that something I'll have to wait on?"

Pidge lifted a paper coffee cup Keith hadn't noticed before. "I am  _way_  ahead of you."

Keith wouldn't let them walk until he had his first sip, remembering his mornings in the sterile Galaxy Garrison mess hall with diamond clarity.

"Bliss," Lance teased, still holding onto Mox's hand. "That was pure bliss right there."

Keith double checked to make sure his bags would be sent to the Castle of Lions, and once the hangar paperwork was in order, Coran guided the group through the high-security terminal and into an underground garage. A private hover van waited, and Keith took a seat in the very back. Due to the coincidence of their lineup order, Shiro settled in the seat beside him.

In the past, they were never talkers while under public scrutiny, but Keith pointedly kept his eyes forward and nursed his coffee. He couldn't indulge the desire to fall back into their pattern of pretending nothing was wrong. Really, there was only so much Keith could forgive.

Only after Coran took the helm did Keith realize Curtis was nowhere to be found. He glanced at Shiro who pretended not to notice, also intentionally staring head-on.

"Wait!" Keith shouted, leaning forward and startling Mox awake. The car immediately filled with the baby's signature howl. "We don't have a car seat!"

Pidge stuffed a finger into an ear, wincing as Mox's register lifted. "That thing in your ship was a death trap. It's a ten-minute car ride. He'll survive. If he doesn't, then you can kill me yourself."

"Wow!" Hunk chuckled, also plugging his ears. "Those are some  _pipes_!"

Keith stared down at his fussy child. His unsafe, vulnerable to a headlong collision, screaming bundle of joy. Feeling like the most underqualified parent in the history of the universe, Keith furrowed his brow and unzipped the diaper bag. He began to dig through the hodgepodge of binkies, blankets, tiny clothes, and even tinier shoes, but he couldn't unearth what he needed.

At least he could now identify Mox's cries.

"Let me help," Shiro said. Without Keith's permission, Coran drove out of the garage. "What are you looking for?"

"I've got it," Keith asserted, refusing to look at him as he continued to rifle with one hand. The last thing he needed was Shiro of all people to realize he was an incompetent dad. "It's right here."

Shiro watched on for ten more seconds before trying again. "Do you need me to hold him so you can look?"

Bristling, Keith didn't reply. He found the feeding cloth at the very bottom, buried beneath wads of diapers, wipes, and ointment. Exhaling in relief, Keith shrugged out of his jacket one arm at a time, carefully juggling Mox between them. Shiro took the jacket and let it rest on his thighs.

"No one looks at me!" Keith snapped, lifting his shirt. "Mox needs to eat."

"Incredible," Lance murmured.

Coran clucked his tongue. "Now, now. It's perfectly natural."

"I said don't look at me," Keith muttered, staring at Coran in the rearview mirror.

Everyone snapped their faces away, pretending the passing cityscape was as inspired as the Louvre. Keith looked down at Mox with a softening expression and guided him to his chest. The squabbling baby searched with his minnow mouth, and knifing Keith's dignity, latched. Keith covered Mox's head with a blanket and leaned back, soul deflating and ego hanging itself.

"Piglet," he murmured, effectively dead inside, cremated even. "I fed you two dobashes ago."

There were a lot of things Keith would have loved for his ex to not witness after several politely contentious years apart, but he had no idea breastfeeding topped the list. Because he was too morbidly depressed to acknowledge the true depths of his humiliation, he decided to find the silver lining. Fortunately, and unfortunately, Keith decided they could only go up from there.

* * *

The Castle of Lions brought back an assortment of memories, and Keith was sure he would have cared about them given any other life stage, but he was too exhausted to tour memory lane.

As soon as Mox was changed into a fresh diaper and asleep on their king-sized mattress, Keith collapsed onto the bed beside him. He threaded his fingers through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut. Keith tried to think his life away, but of course, it didn't budge.

He'd agreed to have Mox because he had an emotional support system for his ongoing dysphoria. Lance was right. They forgot the condom, so to speak. Mox was beautiful, but he was still an accident that erupted inside Keith's butchered alien biology and exhausted identity.

After an internal yell, Keith opened his eyes. Mox was sleepily staring back at him with his pacifier pulsing in his mouth. In spite of himself, Keith kissed his forehead and scooted closer, resting his head on an arm and numbly staring at the wall. Older crew members insisted the emptiness would fill in time, but Keith knew time was years. More of his life spent mourning.

He couldn't take it, not again.

Keith rubbed his forehead, reminded himself feeding his child  _was_  natural, and then breathed back a lungful of air. He preferred his Galra circle where nothing about him was an  _other_.

Anyway.

Once sobered, Keith stripped his jacket and unpacked the baby sling. The design was primitive—a single loop of stretchy purple fabric—but it did the job. Mox was soon strapped to his chest, and Keith took the long familiar hallways to a sprawling community balcony.

When he arrived, Shiro was the only person there. He didn't notice Keith at first, leaned over the railing and peacefully gazing over the courtyard. In the distance, Allura's statue stared back at them, and Keith attempted to embrace her memory, but it only added to his cinder block heart.

"Did the others forget we're meeting here?" Keith asked, ambling toward Shiro.

Shiro glanced over his shoulder and faintly smiled. "They're busy sampling what Hunk made for dinner. He took it out of the slow cooker and they lunged."

"Can't say I blame them." Keith pressed his hip against the rail, chest facing Shiro. "Is Curtis with the others, too? I haven't seen him yet."

Shiro fought to remain neutral, but his mouth tightened. "He's on Earth."

"You mean you're here alone?"

"No," Shiro said, expression still unchanged but voice firmer. "I'm here with my team."

Unsure of what to make of that, Keith turned his gaze onto the garden below. Behind them, the castle servants appeared, setting out platters of hors-d'oeuvres and pitchers, but both men remained focused on the distended silence between them. Keith wondered if Shiro's relationship with Curtis had soured, but that was improbable. Every time he had seen them interact, the two seemed to orbit on perfectly uninterrupted pathways, so wholly in love in that nauseatingly silicone way that was anything but natural. Keith guessed that was why Shiro had grown infatuated in the first place. Curtis the Bridge Bunny was illusory and near kindergarten level.

Keith was not easy, and he gave himself that right.

"You look good," Shiro offered, courteously changing the subject.

Keith snorted as he tilted his head. "As good as a thirty-year-old widow with a six-week-old can look."

"Ah, Keith." Shiro closed his eyes. He massaged an eyebrow and his frown deepened. "I'm sorry I didn't go to the funeral. Kax and I were always tense. It was out of respect, not malice."

"Don't," Keith whispered and tightly smiled, his heart begging Shiro. "I'm too tired to think about that right now."

Continuing to knead, Shiro opened his eyes. "Of course."

"But you look good, too. Seeing you in a cool jacket again takes me way back."

"Even with the extra thirty-seven pounds?" he asked, smirking as he looked Keith over, entirely disbelieving.

Keith lifted and dropped his shoulders. A corner of his mouth slyly hooked as he swayed his weight onto the other foot. "You're healthy. It's important."

"And now you're being polite. You've always been a bad liar, Keith."

"What if I told you that you look better than the last time I saw you?"

Shiro scoffed and dismissively waved. "Then I'd say thank you for holding my hand through my midlife crisis."

"Thirty-five is midlife? Since when, old timer?"

"Calling me old timer isn't helping anything. It was funny when I was nineteen. Now, it's too real. My back hurts."

Keith fought an incredulous smile. "You complained about your back at nineteen, too."

"I had a _degenerative disease_ ," Shiro said, trying to be offended while he shook with laughter.

Still smiling due to the comfortable exchange, Keith lightly bounced the warm bundle strapped to his chest. He kissed Mox's head and returned his gaze to the sinking sun, dwelling on how his and Shiro's familiarity had become alien when it was once second nature. If given the chance to speak to his twenty-year-old self after the clone facility fight, Keith wondered what he would say. Everything had been laid out like a cautionary tale, but he knew he wouldn't redo anything.

 _Guard your heart_ , he might say.  _It's a muscle, and it will grow tired._   _There's only so much weight one man can carry._

"I never imagined you as a parent," Shiro confessed and pushed away from the rail. He approached the circular table and poured two glasses of water. "There were a lot of things I saw you as after the war, but definitely not that."

Keith followed him with his gaze. "Yeah, well. It sort of just happened, and when it did, we couldn't come up with a good enough reason not to go through with it."

"He looks like you."

"You're not the first to say that," Keith said, staring down to inspect Mox as if his child's face hadn't already been seared into his brain. "Did you hear that, buddy? Shiro said you have my knife chin. My poor, pointy, angry looking baby. You didn't stand a chance in hell, huh?"

Shiro raised the second glass, signaling for Keith, and then set it back down. "No one said anything about your chin."

"You didn't have to," Keith said and made his way to the drink.

Like deer creeping along the forest edge, the other Paladins appeared in Keith's peripheral vision. Once caught, they again pretended Keith and Shiro interacting wasn't an active minefield.

"Lovely evening, isn't it?" Coran said, flitting to the table to pour himself a cup of Nunvill. "A little cloudy, but the sky should open up by the end of the week. I thought you five might like to visit the Drooterian goo baths. They clean your pores and strip you of any parasites!"

Lance shrugged out of his white and blue track jacket. "That's what I call a win-win. I love clean pores and hate parasites."

"Imagine loving parasites," Pidge said.

"How's the refugee situation, Coran?" Keith asked. Hunk appeared beside him to look at Mox, and having been bombarded the exact same way more times than he could count, Keith shifted toward him so he could better see. "I've been meaning to visit the villages but the Blades are already spread thin. You and Lance seem to have it covered here other than escorts."

Coran popped a fat date-like appetizer between his teeth. "Haven't spoken to a single unhappy citizen in quintants. There were a couple of bumps in the road manufacturing enough communicators for our latest wave, but Lance handled it beautifully. All Altean communities are now online and on a unified network."

"Pidge's latest upgrade has totally transformed the trade systems too," Lance added, pouring what Keith assumed was an Altean sangria into a thin-stemmed glass.

Pidge plucked the front of her shirt with both hands. "It's pretty impressive if I do say so myself."

"What about you, Hunk?" Keith asked, smiling at Hunk's adoring expression. "What's up with you?"

"Kolivan and I have been working on our own program. Think about the universe's biggest, most delicious, nutritionally sound soup kitchen. We were going to run it by you eventually, but –" Hunk lifted his eyes to Keith and he gave him a long meaningful look. "We didn't want to overwhelm you. It's still in the beginning stages, so no one's going behind your back."

Clearing his throat, Keith withheld surprise. "Don't worry about it. That's a great idea, Hunk. It's overdue, anyway."

Hunk relaxed his face, relieved. "That's what I said! Imagine planning menus for whole planets and different species. Talk about a passion project. The agricultural demand would revitalize the intergalactic economy. Altean refugee villages will probably be where we do our first trial runs."

Though he didn't want to overthink it, Keith had to wonder what else had been kept from him during his mourning. He'd started living his day to day in such a dense fog he hadn't considered the universe expanding around him. He simply couldn't. Keith cleared his throat and poured himself a glass of what Lance was drinking. One sip doused his sternum like napalm, but he sipped again, trying to pacify his concern. Mox softly cooed, and he plucked at Keith's shirt.

"Hey, sweetheart," Keith said, affectionately grabbing Mox's hand. Everything felt out of his control, and Keith hadn't been half as lost since after Shiro supposedly died on Kerberos.

"I can't handle it," Hunk whispered. He grabbed his heart and strolled away to take a sip of Lance's sangria. "Keith is a big softy now. He's a total chicken tender."

Pidge furrowed her brow and cracked open a bottled beer with her bare hands. "What else is he going to do? Bark orders at his six-week-old son?"

For one reason or another, that made Shiro cough-laugh above his drink. Keith expectantly looked at him, waiting for him to explain himself, but Shiro pretended not to feel the hot stare.

* * *

It made sense Mox wouldn't sleep as well given the disruptive travel, new atmosphere, and startling exposure to his very first Sun, but after a peaceful dinner with his friends, Keith had hoped they would manage one night of untroubled sleep. Keith didn't expect Mox to sleep through the night. That wasn't the issue. All he wanted was some semblance of a schedule.

As soon as Keith swaddled Mox, the howling began. Keith recalled Krolia claiming he spoiled him, but he didn't know what else he was supposed to do. Babies cried when something was wrong, and it was his job as Mox's only living parent to figure out what he needed to be happy.

"Can't wait for you to be old enough to just tell me if I'm being an asshole," Keith muttered, pacing back and forth in the room's moonlit glow. "You're not wet, you're not hungry, and I've burped you. Come on, Mox. There has to be something you want from me."

Keith hoped the walls were soundproof enough to at least muffle Mox, but he didn't trust his luck.

After an exhausting thirty doboshes of bouncing and nervous pacing, Keith dug through his delivered pile of belongings. In one of the trunks, there was a mobile, which Mox had never been a fan of, but sometimes it would distract him. A moment of distraction was all Keith needed in order to gather his wits, but when he unearthed the mobile, he discovered the battery was dead. Keith began the hunt for his Altean adapter, but when Mox's screams escalated, he gave up.

"Mox," Keith begged, head tilted back. "I don't know what you  _want_  from me. Please, just sleep, baby. You were doing so well at first."

He was supposed to be on vacation, but for some reason or another, Keith hadn't considered hiring a Galra nanny to tag along. The oversight infuriated him, and while he could fix that in the morning, it didn't detract from his current suffering. Keith was desperate for sleep and peace of mind. The continuous struggle between him and Mox made him doubt himself as a parent, and in turn, it made him resent his life choices. Keith loved his child, but Kax was dead, and that fact siphoned out his capacity to be an enthusiastic caretaker. Really, he was pissed. So very pissed.

As if inspired by a noxious god, Mox cried harder.

"What were you thinking?" Keith said, addressing his late husband. He gently patted Mox's back, hoping for spit up of all things. "Why did you take that mission? I don't understand. I don't fucking understand anymore, Kax. You were our best. Second-in-command. My best, Kax."

The name lodged itself in his throat, roughly leaving his lips and entering the room tattered. Keith laid Mox down on the mattress, and as he continued to scream, sat down on the bed and hung his face in his hands. He wasn't a crier. Even when Allura sacrificed herself, he hadn't shed a single tear, but Keith was coursing with uneven hormones and black lightless grief.

He sobbed.

At thirty-years-old, with a helpless six-week-old beside him on the duvet, Keith messily sobbed against his palms. He'd never heard himself make such an animal noise before, but for the life of him, he could not get his shit together and could not handle being a dad while feeling so alone.

"Come back," Keith whispered, anguish tightening his muscles. "Please, come back. Come back to me. Allura, please, do something."

Behind him, the door he'd so wrongly thought belonged to the closet, slid open without a warning beep. Keith sprang to his feet, panting due to the tears streaking down his throat and the fact he couldn't remember the last time he had been caught off guard. Protective instincts made him think to dive for Mox, but when he recognized the figure standing in the door, he stopped.

"Rough night?" Shiro asked. He was in a black tank top and gray sweats, massaging the back of his neck.

Keith wiped his snotty nose with the back of his hand. "Where the hell did you come from?"

He inspected Keith's face, and being Shiro, couldn't let himself hide his concern. "Our rooms are connected."

"Who had the vendetta against you and made that call?"

Shiro brushed aside the self-deprecation and stepped deeper into the room. Keith's paternal instinct rallied against Shiro. It didn't want a man who had a negative history with his late husband going anywhere near his son, but Keith reined himself in, too ashamed of being caught crying beside his baby to further condemn himself as certified insane. He continued to mop up his face, chest trembling and throat lined with sticky snot.

"God," Keith said and crawled onto the bed beside Mox. "I'm sorry, but he won't stop. I've tried everything I can think of. He's been like this for a couple weeks. Nothing I do helps."

"He's a baby," Shiro reminded him, already kneeling on the mattress. "I'm not going to get mad at a baby because he's crying. It's his only form of communication. He's doing his best."

"You say that because you've had a full night's sleep in the past week."

Rather than argue, Shiro reached for Mox but wisely hesitated. "Can I pick him up?"

"You don't have to help me, Shiro. I'm his dad. I can handle it." Before the final sentence even left his mouth, Keith was draining tears again. Disgusted by his own instability, he looked at Shiro and deliberated. Eventually, he groaned. "Just be careful with his head."

"Got it," Shiro said and scooped him up. Unaccustomed to being held by anyone other than Keith and the nannies, Mox jolted in Shiro's arms and began to violently hiccup in between cries. Shiro tried not to laugh. "You don't know what to think about me, do you?"

"Babies should have mute buttons," Keith said, returning to his seat on the end of the bed. He watched Shiro walk barefoot around his bedroom, eyes puffy and still silently shedding tears.

Shiro dared to smile. He admired Mox's scrunched up face. "I'm going to tell him you said that someday."

Keith held the back of his neck with both hands and sighed. "I'll follow it up with some good ole fashion parent guilt."

Continuing to pace the room, Shiro made a pit stop at a Kleenex dispenser and grabbed several tissues. He circled back around to Keith and offered them. Reluctantly, Keith took the tissues, averting his eyes because he couldn't handle Shiro's pity. The sincerity was sharper than a box cutter.

"You're a fussy pretty boy just like your old man," Shiro cooed at Mox, inspiring Keith to give him an unamused look. Shiro shifted the baby out of the cradling position and placed Mox's cheek on his broad shoulder. "On Zielara, there was a group of Galra who spent centuries living outside of the empire's reign. The planet is ice cold, so when I saw them squeezing their newborns, I thought it was just to keep them warm. I was later told it's a standard Galra childcare practice."

"What were you doing on Zielara?" Keith sharply asked. "Better question. When were you on Zielara? I was there a few months ago."

"Six months ago," Shiro admitted. "I've been lending a hand wherever Lance needs me."

Keith opened his mouth to say something, but he stopped himself. Shiro had never inquired about his marriage, so he knew he didn't have a right to ask about Curtis again. The disbelief was sideswiped by Shiro suddenly squeezing Mox and firmly pressing his temple against the baby's head. At first, Mox resisted being comforted, but then his crying softened.

"Do you cuddle him a lot?" Shiro asked.

Keith scratched a damp cheek. "I hold him constantly. It feels like I'm always holding him."

Shiro furrowed his brow. "That's not what I asked."

Keith thoughtfully stared at the cool glossy floor and tried to remember the last time he had cuddled Mox for the sake of cuddling him. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but whenever he came in from a day on the bridge, he could barely function enough to feed Mox. As the negligence dawned on him, Keith dragged a hand down his face, fighting  _another_  damnable rush of tears. He shook his head and gnashed his teeth, knowing from Krolia that Galra children traditionally needed a specific amount of physical contact. His brain had somehow omitted the information.

"It's okay," Shiro reassured him. "It hasn't been easy, Keith. You're not alone here, and everyone is willing to help."

The door Keith had thought was the only entry point to his bedroom opened with a hiss. Lance stepped through, rubbing an eye. He assessed the scene in front of him, stunned, but Shiro broke the spell. He motioned for Lance to join him and carefully instructed him on how to properly hold Mox. Lance followed orders without asking, but his concerned stare never left Keith.

"He's okay," Shiro reassured before Lance could ask.

"I'm not," Keith admitted, leaning over his knees with his forehead resting on a palm. "I'm really not."

Shiro sat down beside Keith and grabbed his shoulder. "I never promise things are going to get better, but I know that someday things won't be happening the way they are now."

Breathing through mucus and still concealing his face, Keith reached for the hand on his shoulder. Shiro didn't have to be told. He laced their fingers together, and pulling Keith toward his chest, welcomed the man's punishing death grip.


End file.
